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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122848">the mourning of someone not yet dead</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/4wholecats/pseuds/4wholecats'>4wholecats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Depression, Gen, Post Deirdre's kidnapping, Prompt: isolation, Sigurd is having a rough time, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:33:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122848</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/4wholecats/pseuds/4wholecats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oifey, listen to me! We- we can’t. He wants to be left alone. He’s mourning, and not our place to barge in and demand things from him!”<br/>The self-righteous confidence drained from Oifey as he looked into Shannan’s eyes. There was that look again; a look of guilt.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Diadora | Deirdre/Siglud | Sigurd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the mourning of someone not yet dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>you are welcome to read oifey and shannan as pre-relationship i just didnt think it was relevant enough to include as a tag</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t think he’s left his room in days,” Oifey said in a near-whisper, legs curled to his chest as he sat against the wall. He stared down the long hallway at the heavy wooden door, daring the man beyond to defy his words and make an appearance.</p><p>“He’s grieving…” Shannan said, not bothering to whisper. The dark-haired boy curled against Oifey as they sat on carpet together, waiting for something, <em> anything </em>, to happen. </p><p>The quiet was sullen.</p><p>“Do you think he died?”</p><p>“No. If he died then everyone would be panicking, I think. Also we would have been invited to the funeral.”</p><p>Oifey bit his lip, unable to hide his distress. </p><p>It had been three weeks since Deirdre’s disappearance, and there had been no sign of her since. The search parties returned with nothing. There was no trace of a note or letter with information as to where she had gone. Her room was as she left it; all of her most treasured possessions left behind. </p><p>Lord Sigurd had been hopeful at first. Perhaps she would return, maybe she had simply wandered off, or gone on some sort of errand. But when days stretched into weeks, even the castle’s children noticed that something fowl was taking hold of the man. Something suffocating. Even now, from all the way down the hall, Oifey could feel it. </p><p>Despair. Enough to drown in.</p><p>“Do you think she’s coming back?” Shannan lowered his volume now, eyes also trained on the door. Oifey looked at his friend, and he could see something in his expression. The same thing he had seen when Shannan had arrived at the castle with Seliph in his arms and news of Deirdre’s disappearance. </p><p>“I hope so…”</p><p>They sat there together, the unspoken unsureness of their words hanging in the air like a thick fog. It was a few moments before Oifey got to his feet, Shannan grumbling curiously as his pillow disappeared.</p><p>“I’m gonna go knock on his door.”</p><p>Shannan was on his feet in an instant, the joints in his gangly legs cracking loudly in the quiet of the hallway. He stood between Oifey and the door, hands on his friend’s shoulders. </p><p>“Oifey, <em> no </em>. This isn’t about us. We can’t bother him.”</p><p>“If we won’t, then who will? We’re the only ones who even dare to approach his room,” Oifey took a defiant step forward, only to be blocked firmly by Shannan, who stood with his arms stretched, blocking his path.</p><p>“Oifey, listen to me! We- we can’t. He wants to be left alone. He’s <em> mourning </em>, and not our place to barge in and demand things from him!”</p><p>The self-righteous confidence drained from Oifey as he looked into Shannan’s eyes. There was that look again; a look of guilt.</p><p>Shannan wasn’t responsible for Deirdre’s disappearance, but…</p><p>Oifey sighed, backing up a step.</p><p>“I suppose… You’re right, Shannan. It’s… It’s really not our place,” he said, “But if no-one’s seen him by the end of the week. I’m breaking in. I’m very… I’m just worried.”</p><p>Shannan lowered his arms and began to walk back down the hallway.</p><p>“We all are, Oifey. We all are.”</p><p>---</p><p>The muffled sounds of footsteps went quiet outside. The voices, audible through the door, disappeared, leaving the man on the floor alone with the sound of his own breathing. The wood pressed hard against his aching back, aggravating injuries not yet fully healed. </p><p>The back of Sigurd’s head thudded against the door softly as he leaned back, dragging his cold hands through his hair and down his face. Patchy stubble made his palms itch. His skin had taken on a waxy quality from a lack of consistent cleanliness. </p><p>He wanted to open the door. </p><p>The whole time the boys were talking, he wanted to stand up, twist the handle, and re-enter the world with newfound motivation to fix everything that had gone so horribly wrong. But his body refused to move, content with remaining here, curled on the floor like a child trapped in a bad dream. </p><p>He wasn’t crying. He hadn’t cried in days. The first few nights, now that had been quite a scene, but now…</p><p>Sigurd could do nothing but sit and think. Think and lament. Lament and wait patiently for the end of the week when hopefully, the two boys would drag him back out into the world and force him to feel like a person again.</p><p>He sniffled dryly into his shirtsleeve and stared blankly at the empty bed.</p><p>Why had everything gone so wrong..?</p>
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